Four days ago I decided we needed a cat. After all, my life isn't complicated enough with working full-time, moving, a retired man in the house ALL THE TIME and a 14 year old. So I visited the Humane Society which is not that far from our new home - not a good thing. Basically I can swing by after work and pick up an animal or two every week.
Ian and his friend Elias and I stopped there to just look at cats. There were at least 112 cats and I decided we should get this small, shy half grown orange one. Then the sweet volunteer ( although I have now decided she has an evil streak) convinced me I should also take her buddy home. She pointed to one cat in the cage and I was looking at another cat in the cage. So after I filled out the paperwork which included the question, "How will you discipline your new animal?" (it's a cat) the gray-haired volunteer, which as I mentioned is secretly a sociopath, and I went in to gather up our two new cats.
She handed me the small, sweet, purring kitten and then grabbed a 27 pound orange demon. I said, "That's not that cat I wanted, that's the one I wanted," and I pointed to another small, sweet, calico. "No, this is the one that is your kitten's buddy," and she shoved him, head first, into an abnormally small cage; he was growling. Not wanting to cause a ruckus at the non-profit humane society I decided that I, the brilliant animal lover/trainer/psychologist figured I could, after kindness and patience, bring this cat around.
I was wrong. This cat is the devil.
I brought him home and released him into our house. He shot out of the cage and lodged himself under the wood stove. In retrospect I probably should have started a fire in the stove.
When I reached one finger in that I had dabbed with tasty cat treats he hissed at me. When I got more tasty treats on my finger since I had dropped the dab before with fear of the cat, he clawed me. I told Mike, "I think he just needs to be left alone for the night. He'll be fine in the morning."
At two am there was a crash in the living room. I stayed in bed. He scared me.
When I woke up he was under the TV stand. I stuck my hand in without tasty treats and he clawed me. I told Mike, "He just needs to be left alone for the day. He'll be fine later."
Later I walked into the living room and he sailed out from the TV stand, crashed onto the counter, broke three cups and flew behind the fridge. He was stuck on his side with one Satan eye glowering.
I wanted to ignore the 37 pound cat stuck behind the fridge. I wanted to push the fridge in more so he was crushed. He was still growling.
We fashioned a noose and tried to slip it around his neck. I took a closet rod and poked him. He did not move. At first. Then he slipped around and started clawing his way up the back of the fridge. Mike, Ian and I ran. I peeked around the corner and saw 47 pounds of Hell scrambling across the counter. Mike, Ian and I ran farther. From the hall we saw him once again launch himself into the corner of the wood stove. It was 10:45 pm. I wanted to go to bed but I was afraid. We were all afraid.
We got a big box. We got two large blankets. We got a two by four. Ian was in charge of poking him out so I could grab him. I had extra heavy gloves on. Ian poked, he growled and I grabbed his tail, swung him up and into the box and Mike threw two blankets onto the top. It was a plan well executed. Except that now we didn't know what to do with him.
Ian said, "Let's put him on the deck for the night and then bring him to the barn in the morning."
Good plan, Ian.
In the morning we carefully and quietly loaded him into the truck and with the two dogs ignorantly following us. we jauntily drove across the field into the barn. We backed into the barn and we all got into the back of the truck and slid the box to the edge of the tailgate. The dogs were curious and excited. Mike then took his knife and started quietly slicing the two blankets away. There was no sound. I backed up against the back window of the truck. Ian was holding my hand. The dogs were curious and excited.
Mike threw the blanket off to the side and the 57 pound cat flew off the truck. The dogs were no longer curious and excited. They were now afraid. They saw something orange flying through the air and even though they outweighed Satan by 50 pounds they ran out of the barn.
The cat scrambled up into the loft and glared down at us. Then after enough time for our hearts to slow down, the cat started cleaning himself, ignoring the peons below.
The cat, as far as I know, is still in the barn. I'm not sure since we're all afraid of actually going to the barn. We're going to give him a few days to relax - I'm sure he'll be fine after that.
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